Nina Hagen Band - Unbehagen (1980)
21 minutes ago
Monday, 7 March 2011
Prison Terminal
Prison Terminal is a feature-length documentary that breaks through the walls of one of America’s oldest maximum security prisons to tell the story of the final months in the life of a terminally ill prisoner and the trained hospice volunteers—they themselves prisoners—who care for him.
The film draws from footage shot over a six-month period behind the walls of the Iowa State Penitentiary entering the personal lives of the prisoners as they build a prison-based, prisoner-staffed hospice program from the ground up.
Prison Terminal demonstrates the fragility, as well as the holistic benefits, of a prison-based, prisoner-staffed hospice program and provides a fascinating and often poignant account of how the hospice experience can profoundly touch even the forsaken lives of the incarcerated.
Caught singing for tyrants? Don't be embarrassed. Do what 50 Cent does: embrace it
Yeah! Take that, you mainstream douche bags! Feeling pretty stupid now, huh?
Well, no. They weren't. Partly because they knew not what it meant, but largely because Cobain foolishly gave the song a catchy melody, and then compounded this error by including it on an album of other catchy melodies called Nevermind, which became such a massive mainstream success that he never truly lived it down, at least in his own head. And it soon turned out the despised jock fan wasn't the only one prone to discharging the occasional firearm.
Still, if Cobain was tortured by the presence of the occasional macho numbskull at his gigs, imagine how awful he'd feel if he looked out and saw a member of the Gaddafi dynasty moshing to Smells Like Teen Spirit. Chances are he'd have beaten himself to death with his own guitar right there and then.
But many of the planet's current pop stars are clearly made of sterner stuff. They're so unconcerned about the suitability of their fans, they'll put on a private show for the Gaddafi clan at the drop of a hat. A hat full of money.
Now the blood's started flowing they're getting contrite about the whole thing. First Nelly Furtado outed herself, announcing on Twitter that in 2007 she'd been given $1m to perform for the Gaddafis, and was now donating the sum to charity.
Other stars who attended Gaddafi dynasty parties include Mariah Carey, Usher, Lionel Richie, and Jay-Z – who, thanks to the bad publicity, now has 100 problems.
Mr Z's wife, Beyoncé, reportedly received $2m to perform at a New Year party thrown by Hannibal Gaddafi, but subsequently gave the money to Haiti. "Once it became known that the third-party promoter was linked to the Gaddafi family, the decision was made to put that payment to a good cause," said her publicist. Fair enough. She probably didn't realise the Gaddafis were behind the bash, although her husband reportedly attended an identical party at the same venue the previous year – at which, it is claimed, Mariah Carey sang four songs in exchange for $1m. The Gaddafi link was exposed in the press at the time, but only in small-circulation newspapers such as the Sun, so it's fair to assume Beyoncé's advisers had no idea where the cash was coming from.
Libya would be a good growth market for Beyoncé, incidentally, as, thanks to the Gaddafi regime, it now contains far more Single Ladies than it used to.
Another famous star who reportedly performed for the Gaddafis is notorious pussy 50 Cent, the crybaby pant-shitting wuss whom I could definitely have in a fight. (Did you know his real name is Fifi Millicent? Don't tell him I told you, because he's terribly sensitive about it, and weeps huge cowardly tears out of his gutless baby eyes whenever it's mentioned. Also, he was born a girl.)
Fifi was paid an undisclosed sum to sing and dance like a fey little puppet in front of Mutassim Gaddafi at the 2005 Venice film festival. But while the other stars have been embarrassed by their (possibly unintentional) connection to a despotic regime, Fifi seems to have used his as the inspiration for a startlingly violent video game called 50 Cent: Blood on the Sand, released on the PS3 and Xbox 360 in 2009.
The game opens with Fifi Millicent performing a gig in an unnamed war-torn Middle Eastern country, in exchange for a $10m fee. When the mysterious promoter shows signs of not coughing up the money, Fifi and chums storm backstage, call him a "motherfucker" and shove a shotgun in his face. Terrified, he hands them a priceless Damien Hirst-style diamond-encrusted skull. Fiddy and co then bravely head for the airport in their armoured Hummers, only to be ambushed by armed insurgents. During the gunfire and confusion, a sexy woman appears from nowhere and steals the precious skull. "Bitch took my skull," whines Fifi, before embarking on an awesome odyssey of violence across the troubled Arabic nation, shooting and murdering anyone who gets in his way.
Who'd have thought someone like 50 Cent could lend his name to something so crass and stupid? It's almost as if he's an idiot. Still, perhaps openly embracing the despotic crossover in a video game is the way forward. How long before we see a game called Gaddafi Hero, in which you perform a series of upbeat numbers for Middle Eastern tyrants by pushing coloured buttons on a plastic guitar in time to the beat, while trying to drown out the nagging voice of your own conscience and the furious chants of the oppressed?
Suggested tracklisting: While My Qatar Gently Weeps; Gimme Gimme Gimme Oman After Midnight; Insane in the Bahrain; Here Comes Yemen; and 50 Ways To Libya Lover. Recommended retail price? $2m and counting.
Charlie Brookner @'The Guardian'
Pickpocketing: An Art That's Stealing Away
In the great American crime decline that began in the 1990s, New York City's crime rate famously dropped 75 percent by 2001.
But there and elsewhere, few crimes have disappeared as dramatically as pickpocketing.
New York, once a pickpocket's paradise, scored 23,000 cases of in 1990 alone. Five years later, the number fell by half, according to writer Joe Keohane, who wrote about the decline for Slate. By about 2000, he says, there were fewer than 5,000 reports of the crime. It's the same story in many major cities across the country.
A Pickpocket Needs Poise, Patience And Panache
"It's a very human crime," Keohane tells All Things Considered weekend host Guy Raz. "There's no real advantage in terms of physicality or weaponry. You just outsmart your victim."
"The implication is that Clooney is twice the pickpocket," Keohane says. It's a craft he says takes a special combination of skills — like poise. "You need someone whose hand's not going to shake."
That means the patience you need to wait for the proper mark, he says, and the ability to read other people to determine whether a potential mark is a good target.
A light touch helps, too, of course.
Training To Be 'A Pianist'
Part of the reason pickpocketing has declined so dramatically is that no one teaches it anymore. Older pickpockets called "wires" used to train younger ones in the craft.
"Then they would train five, and they would train five, and it would just keep the system going," Keohane says. "In New York, you'd have organized pickpocketing schools."
Sherman "O.T." Powell attended one of those schools in 1969, back when the pickpocketing was good. Powell recalls walking into a room filled with half-dressed mannequins.
"They would have these bells on them, so your hand had to be light enough to lift the wallet and not let the bell ring," he tells NPR. "Like my teacher used to say, 'You had to be a pianist.'"
Powell worked the city streets wearing a suit or clean-cut casual clothes, he says. On a good day, he could make $2,000. His toughest pick was nabbing wallets from women in the revolving door at Macy's — but he pulled if off multiple times.
"As she's going into the store, you're going right back out into the street and hailing a taxi," he says.
A Dying Craft
Powell couldn't make that kind of pick today, he says, even if he wanted to. Pickpockets face stepped-up surveillance in most public places. Their systems of apprenticeship have been dismantled, and heftier sentences keep them off the streets longer.
The widespread use of debit cards hasn't helped, either. "When people stopped carrying money," Powell says, "that was the beginning of the end of pickpocketing."
Not to mention, he adds, it's a lot easier these days to just pull a gun.
"Pickpockets have no respect for thugs or robbers," he says. "We consider them ancient. Prehistoric. We feel that anybody can stick a gun in a person's face — that's not hard to do. But to take a person's money and them not knowing it's gone — that's the art of it. That's the cleverness of it."
But is it OK to be nostalgic for a crime? "Probably not," Keohone says.
"It's probably good that people aren't being robbed anymore — or with the frequency that they were," he says.
"But your tendency is to mourn for the loss of something that requires skill and style and panache," he adds. "And in a lot of ways, this is the way that pickpockets have been viewed for age eternal."
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'The Lost Art of Pickpocketing' By Joe Keohane
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While world watches Libya: What has Iran done to 'green' opposition leaders Karoubi and Moussavi..now missing, believed jailed for 11 days?
Sunday, 6 March 2011
Phil Collins Quits Music, Cites Health Problems
Phil Collins announced his plans to retire, citing medical issues as the primary reason. The artist said years of drumming resulted in multiple health problems, including hearing loss, a dislocated vertebra, and nerve damage in his hands.
People reports Collins as saying, “I don’t really belong to that world and I don’t think anyone’s going to miss me. I’m much happier just to write myself out of the script entirely.”
Collins adds, “I’m sorry that it was all so successful. I honestly didn’t mean it to happen like that. It’s hardly surprising that people grew to hate me.”
Collins boasts seven Grammy awards, an Oscar, multiple hit singles, and over 150 million albums sold as a solo artist, but still received criticism from both other artists and critics.
E! Online recalls Oasis drummer Noel Gallagher’s past statement saying, “You don’t have to be great to be successful. Look at Phil Collins.”
Collins appears to have already moved past the music industry, moving to Switzerland with his two sons. In 2009, Collins discussed his pending retirement on the Genesis Web site after a neck injury rendered playing the drums and piano impossible.
“I was going to stop drumming anyway,” Collins said. “I had stopped. I don’t miss it.”
Nic Roeg and the lost visionaries of British cinema
Take snapshots of Britain's most adventurous film-makers in the latter part of their careers and the images are likely to be both surprising and disheartening. Lindsay Anderson, the director of This Sporting Life, If... and O Lucky Man!, was directing pop videos and making a film about Wham! in China. Ken Russell went from Women in Love and The Devils to collaborating with Cliff Richard. Charlie Chaplin ended up in retirement in Switzerland. The Boulting brothers, among the boldest young British directors in the 1940s, were directing sex comedies .
British cinema has never much cared for its visionaries. Film-makers who are too daring and too offbeat invariably end up neglected or working in the farthest margins of the industry. The cautionary tale of how Michael Powell's career unraveled after Peeping Tom (1960) is often told. The greatest British director of his generation scandalised the critics with his film about a voyeuristic murderer who tried to capture the moment of his victims' deaths on camera. ("Flush it swiftly down the nearest sewer," one reviewer, notoriously, suggested.) The net result was that Powell ended up living forgotten and near poverty until he was rediscovered by American admirers like Francis Ford Coppola and Martin Scorsese.
Equally glaring is the case of Nic Roeg (whose career is being celebrated at BFI Southbank.) According to Time Out magazine in London, Roeg is the greatest British film-maker of all. His 1973 feature Don't Look Now topped the magazine's recent list of the 100 best British films; Performance (1970), which he co-directed with Donald Cammell, was likewise in the top 10, and Roeg's Walkabout (1971) and Bad Timing (1980) also feature. Despite this roll-call of glory, the dismaying fact remains that Roeg hasn't only made one feature film in the last 15 years.
Producer Jeremy Thomas, who produced Bad Timing, Eureka and Insignificance for Roeg, argues that it is a matter of "historical fact" that visionary directors seldom thrive in British cinema.
The French treat their visionary auteurs very much more sympathetically. As has been regularly pointed out in recent years, when film-makers like Roeg and Terence Davies have struggled to raise finance for new projects in Britain, veteran directors on the other side of the Channel, like Claude Chabrol, Eric Rohmer and Alain Resnais blithely carried on working.
"The subsidy system in France is very consistent. Generally, it is looking for excellence. It doesn't always achieve it but it is willing to back film-makers who have this kind of personal vision and want to make a very particular kind of film," Sandy Lieberson (producer of Performance and of Ken Russell's Mahler) states. By contrast, he adds, the British public funding system is "erratic" and has been "rather ungenerous" to visionary film-makers. Jeremy Thomas makes a similar point, referring to "the very strange disease" that has seemed to infect public funding bodies when it has come to supporting the most radical talents. He refers darkly to a system where "young equals good.... that is something everybody feels as they age".
The main problem with visionaries, from financiers' points of view, is that their work simply doesn't make money at the box office. Years down the line, their films may achieve cult status but, by then, the financiers have long since lost faith.
Below, we profile some of British cinema's most visionary talents and ask why, so often, their careers seem to end so badly.
William Friese-Greene (1855-1921)
British film pioneer William Friese-Greene is called, on his memorial stone in Highgate cemetery, "The Inventor of Kinematography". Whether or not that claim can be sustained, he was one of the visionary inventors of his era – British cinema's very own answer to the Lumière brothers. He made little money from his cameras, often skirted close to bankruptcy and is not well-remembered today. Not even The Magic Box (1951), the Boulting brothers' film about him made during the Festival of Britain, and starring the personable Robert Donat, made him a household name.
Alexander Mackendrick (1912-1993)
Mackendrick was the most talented of the directors to work at Ealing Studios in its golden period. Under the benign patronage of studio boss Michael Balcon, he directed such gilt-edged classics as The Man in the White Suit, The Ladykillers and Mandy. When he decamped to Hollywood in the mid-1950s, he made arguably his finest film of all, The Sweet Smell of Success (1957), starring Tony Curtis as an unctuous publicist. But after some juddering collisions with big Hollywood beasts like actor-producer Burt Lancaster, he sought refuge in teaching at CalArts: "I found that, in order to make movies in Hollywood, you have to be a great deal-maker... I have no talent for that... I realised I was in the wrong business and got out."
Michael Powell (1905-1990)
Now commonly acknowledged as one of the towering figures in British cinema history, Powell was close to being forgotten in the 1970s. The British critics had excoriated Peeping Tom in 1960. He made a few films afterwards, including the oddball Australian comedy They're a Weird Mob, but he was living in near-poverty and the memories of his magnificent movies like The Red Shoes and Black Narcissus (scripted by Emeric Pressburger) were fast fading. Thanks to the efforts of historians like Kevin Gough-Yates and Ian Christie, and the wild enthusiasm for his work from US directors like Martin Scorsese, Francis Ford Coppola and Brian De Palma, Powell was rediscovered before his death. There wasn't time for him to make any more movies, though.
Lindsay Anderson (1923-1994)
The waspish British film-maker of If... and O Lucky Man!, whose motto was "never apologise", certainly didn't feel sorry for himself, but it's striking how few movies he made in his career and how under-appreciated they often were, especially in Britain. His last feature, The Whales of August (1987), was dignified, moving and had a fascinating cast (Bette Davis, Lillian Gish.) Nonetheless, when you remember the machine guns on the roof in If..., you can't help but ask why a director as subversive was reduced to chaperoning elderly Hollywood legends.
Ken Russell (b. 1927)
The belligerent and colourful Ken Russell is such a flamboyant personality that it's easy to overlook what a consummately gifted film-maker he once was. His early television work, for example his documentary on Elgar, is still feted. His best feature films, like Women in Love and The Devils, are likewise regularly revived (and The Devils is still the focus of considerable controversy). However, it is now two decades since he has made a film with a proper theatrical release in the UK.
Kevin Brownlow (b. 1938)
Brownlow won an honorary Oscar late last year, so he isn't entirely neglected. It's also a moot point whether a film historian, archivist and documentary-maker can really be classified as a visionary. Nonetheless, Brownlow has done astonishing work in preserving silent cinema and proselytising on its behalf. It is depressing how British broadcasters, who used to support his restorations of silent films, and aired the great series on silent cinema he made with David Gill, have pushed him to the margins. When he made a documentary about Lon Chaney, Brownlow's support didn't come from Channel 4 or the BBC, but from Turner Classic Movies and Playboy boss Hugh Hefner.
Terence Davies (b.1945)
Terence Davies, the visionary director of Distant Voices, Still Lives, is revered by the French – always a very suspicious sign in the eyes of the British industry. His low-budget, archive-based documentary about Liverpool, Of Time and the City, was rapturously received in Cannes three years ago. Even so, British financiers have been in no hurry to support him. He spent years trying to make an adaptation of Lewis Grassic Gibbon's Sunset Song. You could hardly blame him when he railed bitterly against the broadcasters and public funders who made him jump through hoops and then still wouldn't back his film. But, at last, he is back at work. His Terence Rattigan adaptation, The Deep Blue Sea, should be out this year, but if it doesn't win prizes or score a big box-office hit, he will very quickly be back in purdah.
Lynne Ramsay (b. 1969)
When she made Ratcatcher in 1999, young Scottish director Lynne Ramsay was heralded as a visionary young talent. Her second feature, Morvern Callar, in 2002, underlined her credentials as a film-maker with an adventurous and utterly personal style. Why, then, has it taken her well-nigh a decade to make another film? She was bounced off The Lovely Bones, eventually made by Peter Jackson instead. Now, she has adapted Lionel Shriver's We Need to Talk About Kevin, to be released later this year.
Jonathan Glazer (b. 1966)
In between his Guinness ads and pop promos, Glazer has made only two films. Sexy Beast (2000), with Ray Winstone and Ben Kingsley as overheated gangsters on the Costa del Sol, was a commercial success. Birth (2004), starring Nicole Kidman as the bereaved woman convinced that a young boy is the reincarnation of her dead lover, flopped. However, Birth was grievously underrated. His next project, if it gets made, promises to be even more offbeat. It's an adaptation of Michel Faber's Under the Skin. Scarlett Johansson is lined up to play the lead – an extra-terrestrial who scours the highways looking for men to seduce, and then turn into food for the benefit of her fellow aliens.
Nic Roeg (b. 1928)
"I love that his films are so bold and so shocking. You go to see your view of the world exploded with Roeg. A starburst of the mind is what his work is," Oscar-winning director Danny Boyle enthuses of Roeg, whose collaborators speak about him with awe. "To me, Nic Roeg's work is more like a very, very fine piece of art-work. There is more than meets the eye in the way it is shot, the way it sounds, the thoughts behind it. You keep on seeing more and more and more," says Jenny Agutter, who starred in his Walkabout. However, aside from his Fay Weldon adaptation Puffball, there have been no new Roeg movies since the mid-1990s. The BFI hails "his astonishing legacy". Time Out has acclaimed his films as the best of British. The dispiriting side to all these tributes is the presumption that his best work is long since behind him. He is the quintessential visionary of British cinema – one reason why financiers seem determined to ignore him.
Nicolas Roeg, BFI Southbank, London SE1 (020-7928 3232) to 18 March. Jenny Agutter will attend a Q&A screening of 'Walkabout' on 5 March (the newly restored version will show in selected cinemas) and producer Sandy Lieberson will introduce 'Performance' on 4 March
Geoffrey Macnab @'The Independent'
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